Fallout: Hope
by Zynth0s
Summary: A Nord from Skyrim is transported to the Fallout world. Rated M for some language and violence.This story is being made for a contest for the Brotherhood of Steel Facebook page


Fallout: Hope

Henrik screamed in agony as he sat up. His chest heaved from trying to suck air into his lungs. Sweat clung to his skin like an old friend, dripping off him in small rivulets. He glanced at his surroundings, instantly puzzled. He was inside a single room shack, it appeared. Wind howled outside and even snaked its way into the cracks between boards. The bed he laid in was unlike any he had ever seen. The mattress had no sheets and was firm, made of a material so soft it caught the skin on his rough hand as he touched it.

He placed his feet on the ground and stood up, his eyes scanning around him with narrowed suspicion. The rest of the shack was strange as well. The bed. A desk. A wardrobe. All of these things he recognized, yet each one was of a different make than he knew. A faint glimmer caught his eye. On the bed, next to where he had lain, was a sword. It was clearly a bastard sword, exhibiting the hand and a half grip below a silver cross piece. In the pommel and on each end of the cross piece were black jewels that carried the insignia of an eight pointed star.

_Azura._

He picked up the sword and started for the door of the shack when he remembered his clothes. True enough, he was wearing nothing but a loincloth. He searched through the wardrobe and found a shirt, breeches and a jerkin. It took him a minute to figure out how to get the jerkin secured with its metal track. He found some shoes near the door. He tried them on and found they fit him perfectly, just like everything else. With sword in hand, he grasped the door handle and yanked the door open before stepping into the light that blinded his eyes.

Henrik choked. The decrepit and burnt air filled his lungs and sent him to his knees in a series of racking coughs. _What is wrong with the air here? This is like poison! _After a minute or so he regained his composure and stood back up. The vastness of the landscape opened up before him, a wind whipped countryside of metal, dirt and grime. _How could she do this to me? I…I only wanted vengeance… _He ran back into the shack and slammed the door behind him.

He tried to think back, to piece together the events that had brought him to arrive on this wasted world. _There was a prisoner about to be beheaded at Helgen…and then…_his eyes widened. _A dragon! But how could that be? Dragons were extinct. It did not bode well for the people of Skyrim if the dragons had returned. Perhaps I should thank them. _Henrik had been among the prisoners as well, and had witnessed Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarl of Windhelm descend from a wagon. The Jarl had killed the High King, and was to be sentenced to death, just like Henrik. Henrik had also killed a man. Such misfortune he had that he was able to be caught by none other than General Tullius.

Henrik spat at the thought. _I would say "Damn Imperials!" if I wasn't half Imperial by birth. I would sooner have that part bled out of me so that only Nord would remain. _Henrik actually looked more Imperial than Nord. It was true that he had a Nord's build but his face had none of the hard features more commonly seen on his kinsman.

_Azura tricked me._ The conversation replayed in his mind:

Seconds after he had seen the dragon fire rain down among him and everyone else in the vicinity, Henrik had lost consciousness. When he awoke he was high in the clouds, a light hanging in front of him.

-Henrik-

A staggered "Yes?" escaped from his lips.

-Look at your body Henrik-

He glanced down and saw his skin burnt and boiled from the heat of the fire, pus oozing from open sores that had a green hue. He would have screamed but it was all he could do to stay conscious.

-This is the result of your vengeance. You are a good man, but the path you chose lead you to this end.-

"I-I-I was w-w-wrong. I h-had no r-right." His eyelids cracked when he closed them as he nodded.

-What if I told you there was a way for you to live? To redeem yourself for the transgression you have committed?-

"I don't deserve s-such-" he started, but was interrupted by Azura.

-What a man deserves cannot be decided by him. I have already said that there is good in you. Serve me and you will be able to live out the rest of your life providing you have redeemed and atoned-

"W-what,' he stammered, 'do I do?"

-Be yourself. Uphold the honor of your fathers. Help those who need it. Become hope-

"Y-yes…" he murmured. His eyes were closing again. Azura said a few more words but he could not hear them. He felt himself moving back toward the earth so fast he was afraid to open his eyes. It was when he did open them that he had found himself in the shack.

His eyes shot open. There was a scream somewhere outside. He breathed in deeply through his nose and back out through his mouth. _Steady_, he told himself. In a quick motion he had the door open again and was searching for the source of the shrill sound. Another desperate wail thundered from behind the shack. He crept sideways, stepping light and deft to make no sound. A small hill stood behind the shack, concealing both him and whatever was on the other side. He went to his knees at the bottom of the hill and inched his way up slowly. _No need to give away my presence in a land like this._

At the top he stopped to look. Not twenty feet away were six men and a woman. The woman was badly bruised and bits of her blonde hair had been ripped from her head leaving blood spots in several places. She was also lacking clothes. Henrik had to stifle a growl from his throat. _These men have no honor picking on a woman like that._ He studied the men, noting their strange haircuts first. One had spike up hair while another had shaved all but one strip in the middle, only to spike that up as well. Their clothing looked mismatched.

_Taken from those they have killed_, he surmised. Only two seemed to carry weapons. One had a large cudgel with nails jutting out from all sides and the other a metal rod. Three of the others had small black pieces of metal in leather sheaths on their sides. Henrik did not know what they were, but could only assume those were weapons too.

_Small weapons like that are usually projectile weapons_, he thought, remembering what his father had taught him. _I can rush out brandishing a sword but the second they see me, I'll be cut down in a matter of seconds. _He searched to either side and found a small pile of wooden boxes. If he could get to that, it would give him just enough surprise to take out a couple and make the others hesitate. That was about the best plan he could come up with on short notice. He didn't want the woman to have to go through any more of this folly.

Henrik stole around to the right side of the hill, checked to see where the men were looking, and a sent himself rolling behind the boxes. He was laid out on his belly, listening for any inclination that he had been spotted. When he heard none, he gathered his legs back up to him and prepared for his attack. His father's words came to his mind.

"Do not rush. Do not think. Feel. See. Listen. Heed what your body tells you to do," he had said.

He picked up a rock and threw it over his head and past the men. It landed on something metal, emitting a loud WONG. Henrik did not wait to see the reaction to the sound. He charged forward, driving his sword through the back of the first man. The next came at him with the metal rod, swinging wildly. He used little effort knocking it aside and cutting up the man's torso diagonally. An explosion sounded, followed by a hiss that flew by his head. One of the men had used the small metal weapons previously in a sheath.

More explosions followed, and Henrik found his arms moving of their own accord. Metal bounced off his sword, ricocheting at odd angles. Sparks greeted the air each time. The men stopped firing, their eyes wide at the figure in front of them. Henrik took this as an invitation and relieved one of his head. His sword turned wide left then, arcing down to block a blow from the nail infested cudgel. Two seconds later blood ripped from the man's chest. His sword was moving again involuntarily. Metal bits clanged as they struck his blade. A startling realization came to Henrik.

_They cannot touch me. _He roared as adrenaline fueled his limbs. He raised the sword to the sky and leapt forward once more, bringing it down between the eyes of the spiked hair man. He turned back toward the last two. One was no older than a teenager. He was shaking and was not armed. Henrik had not seen the boy taking part in the others' game with the woman, so his eyes shifted to the last man. He was an ugly one. Four teeth were missing from the grimace in the man's face. His nose was wrinkled in anger and his eyes were deadpan. Henrik knew this man was a killer. He was poised on the balls of his feet, a projectile weapon in one hand and a dagger in the other.

"Oooh yer a biggun,' the man said, 'the ground will shake when you fall from my Stick 'Em!"

He cast aside the metal weapon and attacked with his dagger. Henrik let him get in close, grabbed his dagger hand, and squeezed. The dagger dropped to the ground as the man let out a cry of anguish. Henrik leaned in close.

"You are a killer without honor, and you will die as such,' he said. He drove his sword into the man's chest slowly, twisting while he gazed into his eyes. A slight panic had enveloped the irises but slowly faded away as the life left him. Henrik let the corpse crumple to the ground and looked at the boy. 'Go," was all he said and the boy took off.

It took him a second to find the woman. She had snuck behind the boxes to watch the carnage unfold. Her eyes were like saucers when he spied her. "Are you okay, my Lady?" he asked. She came out from behind the boxes while shaking her head. Blood seeped from her stomach. As she got closer her feet fell beneath her, and he had to catch her. He set her on the ground. His stomach clenched. _No…not again…_He was too late. One of those strange weapons had hit her. She reached up with her hand and cupped his cheek.

"T-thank you," she croaked as a tear ran down her cheek. Her eyes closed and he felt her body relax in his arms. Henrik fought back tears. This was not the first time he had held a woman dying in his arms.

_Tessa…_

A shout from behind him shook him out of his grief. He gripped his sword and swung backward, only to find dozens of metal weapons in his face. He was surrounded. These men did not look like the vermin he had eradicated. They were clean cut and ordered. Soldiers, he could tell. There was no hope for him to kill them all. He thrust his sword blade down into the ground and held up his hands.

"WHERE IS SHE?' came a yell. A man dressed like the others ran forward, pushing men to the side. 'WHERE IS TALLA?"

Henrik choked. _Even their names are similar. _"I tried to save her," he said.

The man didn't hear him. His face was fixated on Talla's, a mask of what he was feeling. No emotion escaped in any way. He glanced over at Henrik and his eyes narrowed. "You lie," he said.

"Father!' A voice called, 'I saw it! He tried to save her!' A young man ran forward. He could not have been a year older than the boy he had let go not five minutes before. 'He killed them all with a sword!"

The one called Sir looked around at the bodies for the first time, noting the bloody slashes on the corpses. He turned back to Henrik. "What is your name?"

"I am Henrik,' Henrik replied, 'of Haafingar."

"Never heard of it,' the man said. 'My name is Roger Maxson, former Captain of the United States Army.' His eyes darted to one of his men. 'Take him with us. Bury her." He took one last look at Henrik and made his way back through his troops.

Henrik soon found that Maxson's small troop was part of a larger army. Scores of men were following a road together. There was not much in the way of organization. Henrik could tell that these men had been secluded from the destruction that had wrought this world. Grim faces peered toward him and the company he was with as he they approached. Henrik was almost a head taller than most of them, and his broad shoulders and muscular build did little to hide that he was not one of them. He elected not to answer the catcalls and questions aimed at him, wondering who he was and where he was from. He would save that for the captain.

When they joined the front of the column the boy who had spoken up for Henrik came close. He had a keen curiosity on his face that he did not seem to be concerned to mask. _Maybe he just wants to take a closer look at the huge sword-bearing barbarian that I look like._ The boy's face lit up as he saw the sword in a nearby soldier's hands.

"Can I see it, James?' he asked, reaching his hands out. 'It won't be for long!"

James said nothing but shook his head. The boy turned to Henrik and fell in step with him as they walked.

"I'm Maxson. My friends call me Max," he said.

"Henrik."

"I know! That's a strange name,' Max replied quickly. 'Where is "hawfinger"?"

Henrik chuckled. He should have known his Nordic accent would come up sooner or later. "The Haa-fing-ar,' he said slowly to emphasize the name, 'hold is in the far north west of Skyrim."

Max nodded courteously. He had no idea where Skyrim was, but Henrik could tell his interest was piqued. "Is it beautiful there?" he asked.

"There are lots of rocky places and mountains, but forests and hills are plenty as well. It snows a lot. There were many times that I stood on Dragon Bridge and watched the snow fall into the Karth River, all majesties forgotten. The roar of the river thundered its call to the skies above. The snow descended like a soft cold blanket on the banks .Yes…it is a wondrous place," Henrik said.

Max looked around them at the world he lived in. "Sounds prettier than this place. Sounds…alive. My father says that once we reach the Lost Hills bunker we can start rebuilding…well, mother wanted to start rebuilding. It would be nice to have our own place. Father said we have to take out the raiders first, though. That way we can be safe."

"Captains sometimes have to put their duty before family," Henrik said.

Max's eyes darted to him, a flicker of a tear appearing on his cheek and disappearing just as fast. "What do you know about captains? You're not even from this place."

Henrik's gaze dropped to the ground. He didn't know why, but he felt he could trust this kid. There was goodness in his eyes. He swallowed once at the memories that flooded his mind.

"My father was a captain," he said.

"Of what?" Max asked.

"He was a captain of the king's guard,' said Henrik. 'It seems so long ago…" In truth it wasn't. The grief was still all too near but talking to Max was almost calming, considering the situation he was in. Henrik guessed that he was just relieved to find someone without the hard edge of this world.

Max let the statement hang for a minute or so before he asked, "What happened?"

A shuffling to his left told him that a few of the soldiers had scuttled steadily closer to find out a little more about the newcomer. He didn't care. To exist in a harsh world like this you have to open up sometime. The hardest part is finding out who to open up to. Henrik cleared his throat before continuing.

"My father was branded a traitor by General Tullius when Ulfric Stormcloak killed the High King.' The relief he felt from this beginning was intense. He had kept everything bottled up, and doing so had caused him more hurt than he thought possible. He saw that Max was confused by what he had said. 'It is treason for a king's guard not to die before his king. As the king's protector it is his duty to give his life for his lord, so they made his head roll for it. Not long afterward they came for my sister and I."

Captain Maxson entered his peripheral viewpoint, understanding flickering across his face. "Max, leave him alone. This is not something to be retold over and over, as I'm sure some of the men will do now that they've heard it,' he looked back at Henrik. 'Walk with me."

Henrik and his guard, James, followed the captain a dozen feet or so from the main column and continued parallel. Maxson's eyes swept the area in front of him, ever watchful for an enemy that may be hiding. He said without looking at him, "You say they came for you and your sister. She is not with you."

Henrik expected this the second he had seen the look on the captain's face. He had to know something was amiss by the way Henrik had acted around Talla. This story would be harder to tell. He breathed in deeply, armoring himself in the steady rhythm of life beating within his chest.

"Tullius' men tied her up by her limbs between two trees so they could have their way with her,' Henrik said. He saw Maxson open and close his mouth abruptly, not able to say a word. 'There was a scout on the road that told me about a woman trussed up so. He even dared to say that he "had half a mind to go to the wench himself to get a poke before the soldiers ended it." I slew him before he knew it and doubled my efforts to reach her. But I was too late."

Henrik stopped walking and looked Maxson straight in the eyes. "When I was done with the men who had ravaged her I had the chance to hear her speak four words. 'Now I can go,' she said smiling as she lay there without arms. The devils had cut her free from her bonds once they had their fill of her, yet she would not die.' Henrik found himself shaking. 'She waited for me to come to her. Somehow, Tessa knew I would be there."

At the name Tessa, Maxson drew back. Now he understood. For a second he looked as if he had lost himself and did not know where he was, but he blinked his eyes a few times and looked to James.

"Give him back the sword,' he said and glanced back at Henrik. 'I cannot hope to repair what has been done to us, but I can offer you a home. My people go to the Lost Hills. Will you join us?"

Henrik nodded.

The captain told James to also get him some armor. _Armor, _Henrik thought. _Why armor? _He had not seen anyone else wearing it. When Maxson saw his questioning look, he simply said that the clothes he had on would rot and the only thing they had that would fit him was armor. The captain gave him a meaningful look and strode off toward the front of the procession.

By the time Maxson's army had gotten to the Lost Hills bunker, Henrik was completely comfortable in his power armor. Compared to how bulky it was, he was able to freely move his limbs with ease. The armor increased the magnitude of force whenever he moved so he had to steady himself. When he asked James about how it ran, James had replied with a ten minute long explanation that had Henrik scratching his head from the beginning.

Henrik still after weeks did not really know how his armor worked, only that it made him feel superior. He hated the feeling. His father had taught him that nobody was really superior to anyone else. Henrik had argued about the High King being better, but the notion was waved away.

"King Torygg is the High King, but if you think about it from his point of view, that is his job. He told me himself that the strain on his shoulders was 'just as great as any other man striving to do his best under the worst of conditions.' I did tell him that he was the High King, and being such made him more capable than others. He laughed and said, 'If only that were true.'"

Wearing his helmet with the armor was almost unbearable. Henrik had never liked enclosed spaces, it was part of the reason he had never followed his father in the knighthood. He always felt sheepish when he admitted to himself that in battle, he would have to wear a helm or risk an arrow, stray or aimed. He never brought it to his father of course. He did not want to look weak in the eyes of the captain of the king's guard, nor in the eyes of his father's associates.

So he became a ranger. He mapped unexplored caves, often having to clear them out of whatever vermin lurked within. His training with the sword never failed him. It was often said (though he chose not to acknowledge the fact that he heard) that no other ranger would ever last as long as him in the field. Rangers typically served in ten year spats, offering to give their job to your lads so that they could offer help to the king by way of scouts to his armies. A scout's pay was a great deal larger than a ranger's. Scouts also had the honor of working with others. Rangers were more akin to a lone wolf, leaving alone one day and coming back a month later with maps and tales of the wilderness.

Henrik had become a ranger at thirteen and stayed one for almost twenty years. He liked the freedom of the outdoors, the smell of the trees and the current of wind on his face. A helm cut the wind from his face. The constant airflow involuntarily reminded him that he was still breathing. Henrik's claustrophobia served an abundant amount of puzzlement to James, who had never heard of anyone rejecting a power helmet. _They would never get me to go into one of those vault places. _He shuddered at the thought. Years upon years trapped within a solitary place would not have been pleasant. Caves were different. Henrik would plunge in, noting every curve of the path, holes in the walls and ceilings and any pool of water found. Adrenaline took over in those moments. The thrill of the unknown came to greet him from within and served as the best therapy to one so normally irked.

He preferred to camp outside with his new companions. There were a few among Maxson's army that had headily flocked to him. At first they were interested in whom he was and where he came from, but he noticed that most seemed to revere him in a way. It was troubling that there were people who would act toward him thusly. He was a murderer, had murdered innocents in his rage in the wake of his sister's death.

He didn't want to think about that. The rage within him had always been there. To couple it with grief had multiplied it almost tenfold. _I am no leader. I am just a commodity. A sideshow._ Doubt plagued him as he contemplated these thoughts. _The boy though…there I can make some headway._ Max had been raised by his mother while Roger served his country. There was no fatherly advice to be received on a regular basis. Max joined him outside the bunker on a constant basis, always asking questions about everything. Henrik was glad to give him the answers he sought, even offering a few lessons on morality. He didn't say outright they were lessons, but stirred their conversations toward honor and ethics.

Max seemed to enjoy their talks for the most part until things started to change. Roger was sending out patrols to scout the area for raiders, food and weapons. When Henrik had the chance to bandy words, Roger appeared agitated. His eyes betrayed the conviction in them. He suspected that Roger had heard about his "following" that had gathered outside the bunker. It was for this reason that Henrik was summoned one day inside the bunker to the captain's office.


End file.
